A fairy tale they believe
by feradraco
Summary: AU, may contains slash and manga spoilers. Bertholdt Hoover's only crime was that he was a titan, and so he had to spend half his life imprisoned - and then two mysterious men showed up and saved him...
1. Glance

It was another boring day, just like yesterday, and the day before that. Ilse woke early in the morning, had a quick breakfast and got down to work.

Her work was special yet unappreciated. Most people were just laughing at her when she told them about her job. There are no such creatures like the ones you call 'titans', they would say. No one ever saw even one of them, they'd continue, however they're said to be huge.

She didn't even have a chance to tell them the titans actually have a human form as well. Usually, they live as humans, they show their true faces only when their bloodlust becomes unbearable, when they are really craving for the taste of human flesh. They seem to be average humans, although on the inside, they're merciless monsters.

She checked the papers she got yesterday in the evening. They were reports on titan detections. Most of them were fake news, but there was one of them that caught her attention. It was a report from about two days earlier. A villager from a nearby village said he saw something huge growing just before his eyes. The mysterious object let out a roar and got going in the direction of another village nearby.

It could be fake news, she thought at first, but the description was too detailed to be fake. What more, every detail completely fit into all the informations they managed to get so far – the size, the human-like, yet bestial look, the heat that the villager could feel from even this far.

She read it over again. The object did not have skin, but a hard-looking protective layer covering most of his body and cold, yellow eyes. Obviously too detailed to be fake. She marked it as something Rivaille should see and went on checking the reports, sometimes taking notes.

She would always take notes no matter what she had to about. She took notes about her work, about any interesting rumours that could have any connection with titans, about people acting strange enough to be undercover titans, anything that could have anything to do with titans. She always had her notebook on her in case she ever needed it.

She left her home not long before midday. She took the familiar road: down the main street, turn right at the market, and go forward until she left the prison and arrived at the office on the left. On her way, she continued taking notes, writing down all her thoughts about that one report. If anything happened, she'd have these notes later to make her mind clear.

She didn't even pay attention as she walked through the streets, thus she didn't notice the carriage heading towards her. In the last moment, she was able to jump from its way but as she was apologizing, her notebook slipped out from her hands.

"No, no, no!" she screamed but she couldn't do anything but watch as every small thoughts of her, every information she had gained through years falling through the bars of an underground prison cell's window.

"Oh shit," she spat, and kneeled down at the window. "Hey, is there anyone down there? Hey! Give me back that notebook if you can! Please, I'm begging!"

Ilse was truly desperate. That notebook was her life; she didn't know what she would do without it. She didn't care who she was talking to, a thief, a robber or even a serial killer, she just wanted it back really bad.

"Please…" she was almost crying.

Suddenly, a hand appeared between the cold iron bars, holding her notebook. She grabbed the notebook with relief. The hand was skinny and cold, she could see every bone through the pale skin. But it wasn't what caught her attention.

It was no adult hand. It was the hand of a child, maybe in their middle-teens.

"Hey… how old are you?"

The prisoner didn't answer her.

"How long have you been in there? Please say something!"

Silence.

Ilse stuffed the notebook in her shoulder bag and carefully leaned closer to the bars. It was dark down there, she could barely see any of the prisoner, she couldn't even see all of his face. All she could tell that he had short dark hair and big green eyes. They were the kind of eyes she had never seen before – they had a deep, sad expression in them that made her wonder what he had done. They weren't the eyes of a criminal.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

No answer. Ilse hesitated. She couldn't imagine this boy doing anything bad. Then why _was_ he here?

_I must talk to him._

"Don't worry. I'll take you out of there if I can." She didn't know why she promised this, but she just really wanted to make him free. Leaving an innocent teenage boy in prison would have left a bad taste in her mouth – in case he really was innocent.

In fact, the Special Titan Research Squad's office didn't even resemble of a military institution. As most people didn't believe titans actually existed, they got almost no support for their job. All they had was a small two-roomed apartment with nothing but desks, books and packs of papers in it. One room was for work, one for the near-to-death workers to have some peaceful rest.

She found Lance Corporal Rivaille sound asleep at his table. She didn't want to wake him, she knew well what he'd do to her if she did. At first, Ilse thought it was only the two of them in the office, and then Hanji Zoe came in with a cup of hot tea.

"Oh, hey Ilse," he gave her a tired smile. "I thought you weren't coming today."

"I'm workaholic, you know, I always come in. Where are the others?"

"Rivaille forced them to do an all-nighter," Hanji explained and took a sip of tea. It was the cheapest and thus the worst type of tea, but that was all they could afford. "They went home early in the morning. So, why are you here?"

"I found an interesting report." Ilse took the marked paper out of her bag and gave it to Hanji. "If I'm not mistaken, this one's no fake."

Hanji took a quick look at the report. "Okay, thank you. I'll read it later. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about?"

Ilse smiled and sat down next to Rivaille. "You always know what I'm thinking about."

Hanji sat down in front of her and took a long sip of his tea. "So, what is it?"

"You know, on my way I had a… kind of short intermission with a prisoner."

"What kind of intermission? Ilse, I hope you're not planning about helping a serial killer escape."

"No, no, nothing like that. I just dropped my notebook and he gave it back to me. I tried to talk to him and… he made me wonder."

"About what?"

"Do you know who it was?"

"Give me some info on his appearance."

"I couldn't see much of him, but he had beautiful emerald green eyes and dark hair, probably black. He seemed quite unconfident. I mean…"

"I guess I know who you're talking about," Hanji nodded. "His name's Bertholdt Hoover, age sixteen. He was brought in about five years ago."

"Why did they throw an eleven-year-old boy in prison?"

"Well, it's not confirmed yet," Hanji emptied his cup of tea, "but as far as we know, he is a titan."

Ilse's eyes went wide. "A titan?! We… we have a titan captured alive and you didn't tell us about it?"

"It's a quite complicated story, though…" Hanji sighed. "His own mother brought him in unconscious, telling us he ate his sister. I tried to make him tell me about it, but nothing worked. In the first two months, he was so shocked he said nothing. After that, I did experiments on him. I tried to make him feel as safe as I just could, I never wore uniform or use official terms, I treated him like anyone else would treat a little boy." He gave another sigh. "Nothing. All he said was 'I know nothing', and whenever I tried to make him transform he didn't let me. He had panic attacks every time I asked him to transform or I tried to hurt him."

"Hurt him?"

"We had a theory back then that titans must get hurt in order to transform. We're not so sure about it now, though… That's why he's still kept in a cell where he can't get hurt no matter what he does. Finally, we had to give up on trying to pull information out of him. It's been about two or three years since the last time he could talk to someone and expect an answer."

Ilse went silent for a few minutes, thinking about what she had just heard. She knew well that titans eat humans, but that boy looked so innocent… she couldn't imagine him turning into a giant human-eating monster.

"It's… just so sad," she finally said.

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Hanji, you just changed my mind. Let me talk to him!"

"It's no use, he won't say a thing."

"Hanji, that boy was no bloodthirsty monster, believe me! Let me prove it! I mean…" she searched for words. "Have you ever met a titan? Someone who's _proved_ to be a titan?" Hanji shook his head. "And don't you think they could be similar to us? Not wanting to kill humans? I do believe this kid's different. That's why I want to talk to him. Can you arrange this to me?"

Hanji pushed up his glasses on his nose. Ilse couldn't read his expression. Rivaille yawned next to her and lifted his head from the table.

"What the fuck's going on here, you two?"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Ilse started to say, but Rivaille interrupted her.

"Don't worry, you didn't wake me. Hanji, would you explain to me why Ms Langnar is shouting her lungs out next to me?"

"It's… it's about the Hoover boy. She wants to talk to him."

"That kid's useless, totally useless." Rivaille shook his head. "It's no wonder we didn't tell you about him. When six years ago the two of us founded this squad, our aim was to gain as much information about titans as we can and exterminate them all. It's clear enough that Bertholdt Hoover, be a titan or not, cannot provide us any useful information. He's just a useless piece of shit. You didn't _need_ to know about him."

"He's a child!"

"He ate his own beloved sister," Rivaille fired back, his voice calm. "Langnar, titans are no humans. They're a plague."

Ilse turned to Hanji. "Hanji, don't just sit there! You seemed to believe me just a minute ago!

"I… I don't know what I should think anymore. I've seen what I've seen and I've heard what I've heard. I've seen Bertholdt Hoover crying after his sister in that underground prison cell and I've heard what Lance Corporal had gone through as a little boy. I… need time to decide which one I should believe in."

Ilse hesitated. Lance Corporal Rivaille never told her more than what he thought she needed to know, thus she had never heard about his childhood. She looked at him.

"…I used to live near Metrosis with a loving family. Then a seven-meter-class titan came and fucked up all my life. That's all," he finally said in a low voice, then looked her straight in the eyes. "Do you still think they're human? I almost died back then. I don't even know how I survived, and I had to watch that fucker eating up all my family."

Ilse was shocked. It was clear enough why Rivaille had never told this story to anyone.

"I understand why you want to kill them all. I understand your hatred. But still…" she said silently. "Just give them a second chance. Let Bertholdt prove titans can be different. Please…"

"No. That's my final answer."

Ilse could feel her tears burning her eyes. She stood up and left the two men alone.

"Fuck you," she spat right before she shut the door and lay down on the hard, worn sofa under the window, letting her tears go. Sometimes she'd sleep on this sofa with all the squad, their body heat calming her nerves, making her feel safe but now she was all alone and she didn't even want anyone around her.

"Ilse?" Hanji came in as silently as a cat.

"I promised him," she whispered. "I promised him I'd help him. Why'd Rivaille let an innocent teenage boy rot in prison until he dies? Did he kill his sister on purpose? Well, did he?!"

"That boy is very warm-hearted," Hanji replied her as he sat down next to her head. "I can tell you that. When I went to see him with a hard flu, he'd always tell me I should stay at home. But he's very timid at the same time, he can be scared easily."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ilse wiped her nose with the back of her hand as she looked up at Hanji.

"Well, I thought you'd like to know how to treat him," he smiled. "I'm gonna get Commander's permission. I don't know what you can make out of this, but I wanna see it. You're a strong girl, I believe in your success."

Hanji really did get Commander Erwin Smith's permission that evening. He arrived back from headquarters with the necessary papers after half past six and handed them over to Ilse with a broad smile on his face.

"But don't go tonight," he said, "you're too tired for this."

And so Ilse promised she wouldn't go right to the prison although she really wanted to. She left the office with a bright, satisfied expression on her face and stopped before that certain window on her way home.

"Hey, you remember me? We're gonna meet soon, I swear on my life! Please, hang in there just a little more!"

She stood up and bumped into someone. It was already dark, she could hardly see who it was, so she just apologized and went on – or she was planning to go on but the man she bumped into grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"Hey now, why are you hurrying this much?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I must go—"

She didn't even feel him bringing her down to the ground. Mud filled her mouth as she tried to scream for help. She couldn't move as he tore her pants off of her and penetrated her.

"Agh—no, stop it! Please—I'm begging you…" she cried out, her mouth still full of mud.

"Shut up, you whore!" He slapped her, her lips split; she felt the taste of blood.

Suddenly, she could see a flash of emerald green eyes and two skinny, weak hands on the iron bars before her.

"Someone help her!" A voice shouted out, almost screaming. "She's gonna die, someone! Someone come and help already!"

Pain made her sight and her thoughts vague; the only thing she could feel for sure was her tears running down her face. She could vaguely see the flash of a knife, then her breathe caught, hot blood ran down her throat, and everything went black.

_Here lies_

_ILSE LANGNAR_

_832-850_

_R.I.P._

Hanji couldn't take off his eyes of the gravestone. Just a few days ago, Ilse was alive, he saw her laugh, he saw her cry. How could it end so quickly, so... simply? Just a cut and she was dead. The rain started to fall, but he couldn't care. One word, one question kept echoing in his head.

_Why?_

She was so enthusiastic about that titan boy. Now she'd never have the chance to prove her theory...

"Rivaille," he said quietly. "We must make her dream come true. We must prove they're different from what we'd been thinking of them."

Rivaille kept silent for a while, then said, "then go and do it. But alone."

"...what?"

"Go, talk to your beloved titans, and end up like Langnar did. I don't care anymore."

Hanji looked at him. It was a pain for him, too. He just didn't want to show it.

"Okay, then. I'll do it even if I'm going to be the last one trying to do it. I swear, Ilse."


	2. The fifth of us

_What's your name?_

_Bertholdt Hoover. Bertl, for short._

_How old are you?_

_... no idea._

_What do you hope for?_

_Well, what do you hope for?_

He sighed. Basically, he kept asking himself these questions in order not to go insane, but as days went by, he became more and more unconfident about the answers. In the first few months or years (he didn't exactly know) he had a pretty list of questions and answers, now he only had this three. Two of them already without an answer.

He had long given up on counting days. Time didn't matter after a few months, after the realisation hit him that he'd probably never be free again. At first, it had hurt so much he thought he'd have died right then, but as time had passed he slowly got used to the situation. He had thought about everything he had up to then in his life and had come to the conclusion that in fact the world wouldn't miss him. At least, it seemed to him that he was unwanted in this life, so why would he cause anyone trouble?

His sister whose name he couldn't even remember anymore was dead. His mother gave him up without hesitation. His life was all fu—no, it was simply all in ruins. Or wait, why should he still watch his language? His life was all fucked up, no sense in putting it a somewhat nicer way.

"Fuck," he said silently, his voice deep and hoarse, then a bit louder again, "fuck."

He sighed and sat up on the tiny, hard bed. He was kind of glad he had this bed – he could relate the passage of time as it slowly got smaller. Or was it him who got bigger? It didn't really matter, but still thinking about this was another thing that kept him from going insane.

He looked up at the small window with the smooth, thick iron bars. The bars that prevented him from helping that young woman long ago. He shook his head. He can't think about it.

The sun was going down, the street's paving stones was dyed in a warm reddish orange colour. The end of another day spent totally alone and lonely. His only consolation was the man that brought him food two times a day. He was deaf and mute, but at least Bertholdt had some company twice a day and some new clothes once a year. That man would wake him every day and be the last person he'd see before he went to sleep.

Someone knocked the door. He turned to the door, his eyes twinkled. That man was in no means nice or understanding with him, but still he was the only human being he could meet in the last few – or not so few – years.

He pulled his legs up to his skinny chest and his eyes followed the short, grumpy old man putting some dry bread and water on the ground next to his bed.

"Hey," he said with a faint smile, "glad to see you."

No answer, of course. What did he even expect? The man shut the door loudly as he left the prisoner alone again.

He gave a long sigh and closed his eyes. He felt no hunger. He'd gotten used to being hungry all day long ago and as he didn't do anything he didn't felt like he needed to eat. He picked up the bread from the ground and scraped some crumbs from it with his nails. The cell was small enough for him to reach the window even without standing up, so he just simply put the crumbs of bread between the iron bars. Then he just waited, his eyes on the bread, almost without blinking.

He didn't have to wait long. Within a few minutes, a small black bird came to the window and started to pick up all the bread. Bertholdt carefully held out his hands. Once they used to be tanned, but now they were pale and so skinny he could see every one bone in them. He didn't know what he looked like, but he was afraid all his body was in a similar condition.

The bird stopped picking up the crumbs and looked at his hands.

"Come on, little boy," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."

The bird hesitated a bit, and then jumped on his palms. He drew his hands closer to himself, to his chest and looked down at the small animal smiling. He carefully caressed it with his left thumb.

"At least you're not afraid of me, huh?"

_Bertholdt, bird hold,_ he thought suddenly. The small, warm body in his hands calmed him down like nothing else could. This little bird seemed to be the only one who didn't care who or what he was, it seemed to feel safe in his big, skinny palms and so didn't fly away.

He closed his eyes. He could feel the heartbeat of the bird, fast yet relaxing. He exhaled through his nose as if he was laughing, then opened his eyes and held out his hands again.

"Okay now, let's go. You can't stay here with me forever."

The bird flew with a quick whistle, leaving him alone with the memory of its warmness.

Bertholdt lay down and stared at the ceiling for he had nothing better to do.

He missed his freedom although he had long forgotten what it was like. What it was like to stand up, to run, to feel the wind on his face, to laugh with honest happiness, to be with people who loved him.

Once he had asked that strange woman – or wait, didn't he turn out to be a man? – about why he was here. He had just smiled at him and answered, "Because of what you are." Bertholdt had asked him what he was.

"A creature we don't exactly know what is yet," he had answered as he put the heavy padded iron collar on him. "But don't worry, we'll let you go as soon as you're no longer dangerous. In the meantime, we can't let you get hurt, though. A drop of blood, and _he_ is out."

_As soon as you're no longer dangerous._

_A drop of blood, and _he_ is out._

It had been quite a while since that man stopped visiting him. In fact, the last one talking to him was that woman that was killed right before his eyes. He wanted to help her so much...

_When will I be "no longer dangerous"?_

Is he dangerous now, anyway? No one had checked him for a while. How would he know if he's still dangerous? What does "dangerous" even mean? Of course he knew there was _something_ inside him, but if he'd never get hurt, that monster living inside him wouldn't come out and start raging.

He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes. "Fuck," he mumbled, then shouted it out so loud he's lung almost hurt, "Fuck!"

He didn't know how long he was laying there, eyes closed, but when he opened his eyes again, it was already pitch dark. He wasn't sleepy at all – he had been imprisoned for so long he slept totally randomly. Sometimes he'd sleep all day, sometimes he wouldn't even sleep.

Suddenly, some noise caught his attendance. Something – or someone – was banging on his thick wooden cell door. "Not so loud!" he could hear silently from the other side. He sat up, held his breathe, his eyes went wide and he couldn't tear his gaze off the door.

It felt like it took hours until the old wood gave up and the locks torn from it. Two men came in, their faces covered with the hood of their dark coats. They shut the door as fast as they could behind themselves, and didn't even seem to notice the skinny young man right behind them on his tough bed.

After a few minutes of perfect silence, the shorter one of them gave a sigh in relief and said, "Finally. They lost us," and laughed.

"It was hot, huh?" the other one replied.

"Who..." Bertholdt's voice was weak and hoarse and quiet. "Who... are you?"

The air froze between them in an instant. The intruders turned around slowly, two pairs of eyes – ice blue and dark brown – were pointed straight at him. Bertholdt nervously gulped.

The taller one with the blue eyes spoke first. "Hey, should we kill him?"

"Don't think so," Brown Eyes replied, shrugging.

"He saw us."

"That's no reason. He has no idea who we are."

"Who are you?!" Bertholdt asked for a second time, now a bit louder.

"That's none of your business," Blue Eyes looked at him. "Berik, just kill him."

"Don't say my name."

"He's going to die anyway."

"We can't afford any more time wasting. We must find _him_, I hope you didn't forget it."

"P-please..." Bertholdt said quietly. "Kill me if you want to, I-I don't care anyomre but please... answer me..."

"It's like you've been rotting here for years already, man..." Blue Eyes sighed annoyed.

The one he had called Berik suddenly raised his head with eyes wide open. "Imprisoned for years...? Kid, why are you here?"

"N-no idea... I swear..."

Berik took a quick look around. Bertholdt knew what he saw: a small, uncomfortable hole with nothing he could hurt himself with. The coated man stepped to him and grabbed his wrist violently.

"N-no! Don't hurt me!" Bertl screamed. "_He_'s coming out!"

_A drop of blood, and _he _is out. A drop of blood, and_ he _is out._

"Reiner, gag in his mouth!"

Blue Eyes forced the end of his coat in Bertholdt's mouth, exactly one minute before Berik tightened his squeeze and broke his wrist with a loud crack.

He wanted to scream as pain ran over his hand. It's been a long time since the last time he had felt pain, and he didn't remember how intense it could be. Tears ran down on his face. He didn't even know when Berik had let go of his hand, but suddenly he could feel the pain easing, each broken bone of his wrist moved back to its place. His eyes went wide as he moved his hand without the faintest pain. There was not even the smallest sign of the man's strong fingers on his wrist. It was as perfectly healed as it had never been broken.

"Holy..." he murmured, "Holy fuck... how... did you do that?"

"Wasn't me,' Berik replied as he nodded to Ice Blue and he let go of Bertholdt, "but you. I'm Berik, and this is my friend, Reiner. Nice to meet you."

"Be-Bertholdt Hoover. Bertl, for short."

"What are you doing?" Reiner asked nervously.

"Reiner, it's him," Berik looked at his friend with enthusiasm in his eyes. "He's the fifth of us."

Reiner raised his eyebrows as he took a look at the skinny, pathetic figure sitting on the bed with a long chain hanging from his neck. "This faggot?"

"He might look weak, but it must be him. We must take him home and train."

Reiner froze, his eyes went wide. "They're here," he whispered, and exactly one second later Bertholdt heard the sound of people running. It was barely audible, but the sound of footsteps were coming closer every second.

Berik thought for a moment, then held out his right hand and said, "Reiner."

The big blue-eyed man stepped closer. He moved so fast Bertholdt could hardly follow him – what more, he didn't even quite understand what's going on around him –, all he could see was a cut opening on Berik's held-out hand and a bloody knife flashing in Reiner's hand. Berik didn't even flinch. Bertl's eyes went even wider than last time as the man's arm seemed to get larger and the wound healed in an instant.

"Worry not," he said briefly and then he broke Bertl's chain with one single move. He took off his coat and draped it over the prisoner's skinny shoulders, and then took Reiner's knife. He was quite handsome as far as Bertholdt could see him in the dark, but the faint smile over his lips looked a bit sad. "You must go with Reiner. I'll hold them until you escape. Can you stand up?"

"Wait, what?" Reiner interrupted. "I won't leave you here."

"Yes you will! Reiner, we don't have time to argue! Take him out of here. I'll follow you later. Can you stand up?" he asked Bertl again. Bertholdt shook his head and looked up at Berik desperately. He had tried standing up a few times, but as he didn't have a reason to use his legs in the past years, they got weaker and weaker. Now they couldn't even take his weight although his clearly visible ribs guaranteed he wasn't heavy. "Then Reiner will carry you."

Reiner inhaled and then gave a deep sigh. "Okay. But don't die."

"I'll try not to." Berik said with a last smile and stepped out of the door, cutting his hand once again. Soon, loud screams and shouts could be heard from not so far.

Reiner grabbed Bertholdt's neck and threw him on his shoulders. Bertl held on to his back. As Reiner left the cell running, in the opposite direction he saw for a moment what was going on there – soldiers fighting against something huge and bestial monster. He held back a scream and tightened his squeeze.

Reiner suddenly turned sharp to the right and threw him in a hole – it was probably some kind of a sewer, judged by the smell. Bertholdt fell right into the water; it was cold and wet, one feeling he knew well, another one he did not.

"It stinks," he said, wiping his face as Reiner landed next to him.

"Not more than you do," Reiner replied and picked him up again, running in the knee-deep sewer water.

Bertholdt didn't know how long he was running with him. His sense of time was long gone, but suddenly Reiner stopped, pushed a manhole cover off to the streets above them and helped him crawl out, then followed him.

"We're no far,' he said shortly, then picked him up again. This time he didn't run.

The moon was shining above them as bright as Bertholdt hadn't seen it shine for a very, very long time. It covered the houses around them in silver, making everything seem kind of mysterious. The light illuminated every small detail around him, giving them another, much deeper meaning. Or so it seemed like that to Bertholdt.

"Pretend you're knocked out," Reiner hissed after a few minutes and took off his hood. Bertl didn't have any time to study his face, he hung his head and closed his eyes.

"What're you doing on the streets so late?" a harsh voice asked.

"You see, my friend drunk a bit more than he could take," Reiner replied, laughing. "I'm just taking him home."

"Just hurry up. I hope you remember that girl who was murdered here five years ago. I don't want to deal with another case like that."

"Do I look like a helpless girl to you?"

"You're right. Anyways, go home as fast as you can."

As soon as the soldier's footsteps' sound could not be heard anymore, Bertl squinted up at Reiner's face, but all he could see was his short blonde hair illuminated by the moonlight.

It was the one and only time they were stopped on their way. A few minutes – or hours, Bertholdt couldn't tell – later, Reiner entered a five-floor house and didn't stop until the third floor. He turned left, opened a door and turned the key in the lock behind them. He threw him down on the floor and told him to wait.

"You still stink like bullshit," he stated, "You need to have a bath first."

Bertholdt smelled his sleeve – it smelled like sewer water, sweat and faeces. He grimaced.

His eyes hurt as Reiner lit some light. The apartment he was in was a nice little two-roomed one, really small but seemed comfortable. He was in the first room, the one right before the front door. Reiner soon returned with a wooden tub full of warm water.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered him. "And better forget them. We'll get new for you."

Bertholdt looked at him. Reiner's face was not exactly how he had imagined it: his eyes were narrow and unfriendly, his eyebrow had an evil shape, and his jaw was angular. He looked away and blushed. "But— but I..."

"Man, don't be so prude! You piss me off. I've seen naked men. Just undress and get your ass in the water already."

Bertholdt blinked embarrassed and took off all his thin, worn clothes, revealing his clearly visible ribs under his once-tanned skin. He felt Reiner's burning gaze on his back as he crawled into the tub.

"... Hey."

"W-what?"

"Do you... do you need help?"

Bertl hesitated for a moment. Why should he care about his pride? It didn't exist anymore. "Yeah, thanks."

The blonde man's hands were rough and strong, he helped Bertholdt wash himself with merciless harshness, but when they were finished, it felt as good as Bertl had never felt for a very, very long time.

"Take this," Reiner gave him a shirt. "It'll probably be a bit big for you, but that's all I can offer you right now."

Bertholdt put the shirt on. It was too loose, yet too short at the same time. "Is it... yours?"

"Yeah. But if you don't like it, I can give you Annie's favourite skirt."

"Who's Annie?"

"Someone who's probably gonna kill you."

"Oh. A-anyways, thank... you for the shirt. And everything else."

Reiner did not respond. "You said your name is...?"

"Bertholdt Hoover."

"Yeah. We have a brick in the Special Research Squad, I'll ask her to run a background check on you."

"Special...?"

"A small department of the military searching for us."

"Us?"

Reiner looked at him a little surprised. "You really don't know what we are?" Bertl shook his head. "Well, we're no human. Some call us beasts, some call us monsters... we prefer the expression 'titan'."

Bertholdt felt a bit scared yet relieved. He had heard tales about titans and of course it scared him to know that he might be one of them, but at least he had an idea about what he was.

"Titan... I am a titan."

"It's not as terrible as you might think it is. But anyways, it's late," Reiner picked him up again. "Tomorrow's gonna be a long day, you better have some rest."

He put him down on something soft. He could vaguely remember what a real, comfortable bed was alike, and he couldn't bring himself to call that thing a bed, but still it was soft and warm and that was enough for him.

"There's only one bed," Reiner explained as Bertholdt covered himself with the thin blanket. "And that's for our hostess. Be satisfied with this."

Bertholdt curled up, tears burning his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for—"

"Don't thank me anything," Reiner muttered annoyed as he lay down next to him. "If it had been up to me, you'd still be rotting down there."

Bertholdt sniffed. His relief now turned into self-despise. That other one, Berik might have died for him, a useless piece of shit. It hurt him inside. "I'm... I'm sorry... I really didn't—"

"Shut up. Berik made his decision. All you can do now is trying to be worth his sacrifice."

Bertl's hot tears ran down his face. "I'm so... so..." He couldn't finish it.

"Hey," Reiner said suddenly. "Don't cry. Have a long sleep, and tomorrow everything's gonna be alright."

Bertholdt inhaled deeply, wiped his tears away and tried to calm down. One minute later, he was already having his deepest sleep he had had in years.


End file.
